by Nikki Sloane
I was supposed to play my part and be what Macalister wanted, but it seemed like what he wanted most was to tear me apart. To break me down and prove I wasn’t worthy of entry into his family.
Alice had won him over by standing up to him. It was incredibly risky, but if I was going to lose, at least I could say I went down swinging.
I filled my lungs with air, using it to inflate my confidence. From this point on, I needed to be unsinkable. “I’ve been intimate with two guys.”
His lips parted, probably to ask for specifics, but I cut him off before he could.
“Hands,” I said, “above and below the waist. That kind of thing.”
Mr. Lynch didn’t seem to be aware this conversation was truly between Macalister and me and interrupted. “No oral sex? Ever?”
My gaze was locked onto Macalister as I answered his lackey. “No, sir.”
In my peripheral vision, I saw the rest of the board members exchange looks with each other.
“Who were the boys?” asked Mr. Shaunessy.
“Do you really want their names?” It was clear they did. “Well, Royce. And, um . . . Richard.”
Mr. Shaunessy flinched. “My son?”
The king, sitting on his throne, stared at me. He didn’t care about who, only why I was still a virgin. To him, I was a puzzle to solve. “Are you not interested in sex?”
“No, I am.” I wasn’t going to play his game and let him embarrass me for something that wasn’t shameful. “Very interested, actually.”
“Is that so?” His eyebrow arrowed upward. “Then, I assume you masturbate?”
A few of the board members gasped. Mr. Geffen coughed as he choked on his own spit.
Inside I was dying, but I refused to show it. Be unfazed. Besides, I read the challenge in Macalister’s words and would meet it head-on. My voice was loud and strong. “Nearly every day.”
Some of the board stirred in their seat. But Macalister? The shift was subtle, barely noticeable. His lips parted and heat flared in his eyes. It wasn’t judgement or disgust causing it—this fire was something far more insidious.
Arousal.
My heart thudded to a stop.
His broad shoulders tilted as he leaned on one armrest of his chair, and his lips peeled back into a smile. “I’m sorry if you find my questions frank, but I believe sex is an important aspect of a healthy marriage. Most girls your age have already had some experience with it.”
“I am not like most girls.”
His smile widened, stretching into his eyes. “No. No, you’re not. I see that now.” He thumbed the underside of wedding band on his finger. “You’re attracted to Royce? Sexually?”
I would have thought that was clear, but I humored him. “Yes, sir.”
“That’s good. However, I’d prefer if the two of you don’t go any further until we’ve finished this approval process.”
Yet another instance of Macalister trying to assert absolute control, but it wouldn’t work. Royce had already told me he wouldn’t take my virginity until we were engaged. “I’ve waited a year for him, I think I can wait another . . .” Shit! What was I doing? “I mean, I’ve waited this long, it’s fine.”
My attempt at backtracking was futile. Macalister latched on, intrigued. “What was that?” When I said nothing, he prodded, “Go on. You said you waited a year for him. What did you mean?”
My hesitation wasn’t helping, but it was hard to admit. “Last year, Royce . . . he asked me not to sleep with anyone.”
His expression didn’t change, but behind his eyes I could see him working through it. “He wanted to be your first.”
It had felt like I had been winning the battle up until this point, but now I was losing ground. I said it so softly, it barely traveled the length of the room to reach him. “Yes.”
“And you waited. He could have been off with a dozen different girls, and yet you stayed faithful. Why?”
We’d come full circle. Macalister had returned to asking questions he already knew the answers to. My pulse thundered, making blood whoosh loudly in my ears. I didn’t want to say why I’d waited for the boy I’d grown up disliking. I didn’t want to admit to myself why I’d turned down the stranger who’d asked for my number at the coffee shop this past spring.
“She’s in love with him.” Mr. Shaunessy acted like this was a fact he’d been clever enough to discover.
“No,” I said instantly. “No, definitely not. I barely know him.”
Mr. Shaunessy took on an all-knowing look. “All right. Infatuated with him, then.”
That one was harder to argue against, so I fell silent. I risked a glance at Macalister, who seemed pleased. I knew in my gut it wasn’t how his son and I had made a connection, but that this information gave him more leverage over us.
Mr. Burrows set down his water with a thud, the ice tinkling against the glass. “Well, she’s loyal, and you can’t buy that.”
Macalister’s attention snapped to him. “There’s no problem too big that money can’t solve. You, of all people, should know that.”
Mr. Burrows reacted as if his boss had slapped him across the face rather than just verbally. He sank back in his chair, and I doubted he’d say another word the rest of the time he was in the room.
Macalister’s focus crept back to me. “He’s not wrong, though. I respect honesty and loyalty, as both are difficult to find these days. Do you feel you would make a good wife?”
Alice had told me to control my hands, so I resisted the urge to tuck my hair behind my ear. “I don’t know how to answer that, other than to say I would try my best.”
Macalister nodded. “Well, that’s all we can ask of someone, isn’t it? Thank you, Marist. Please shut the door as you leave. The board and I have a lot to discuss.”
TWELVE
THANK FUCK THE OFFICE HALLWAY WAS EMPTY when I left the boardroom. I put one hand on the wall to lean on, and the other in the center of my chest, and willed myself to keep it together. A million emotions churned inside me.
Relief it was over. Proud I’d survived. Fear at what I’d revealed. And, most of all, anger. All that preparing, and it had been pointless. I’d been ambushed by the questions.
I took a moment, sucking in air to steady myself before launching down the hallway toward Royce’s office. There was no assistant to stop me, and his closed door wasn’t going to either. I seized the doorknob, turned it, and stormed inside.
He was alone in his spacious room, typing on the keyboard and his gaze fixed on the computer screen. The other monitor beside him scrolled real-time data from the markets.
“Did you know?” I demanded, startling him. My voice cracked and lost its power. “Did you know what he was going to ask?”
Concern had Royce shooting out of his seat. He came to me, pushing his office door closed with one swift hand and sweeping me into his embrace with the other. His tone was hushed and soothing. “It’s okay.”
“The fuck it is!” I glared up as he loomed over me, taking up all my space. “I just told a room full of men that—oh, let’s see. I’m a virgin. I’ve given hand jobs to you and Richard Shaunessy, whose father asked for the names, by the way.” My stomach flipped over on itself as I declared the worst part. “And I masturbate nearly every day.”
“You do?” Lust pooled in his expression. “That’s hot, Marist.”
“Royce.” I was in no mood. Didn’t he see how serious I was about this? His comment only made me angrier. “This might be a game for you, but it’s my fucking life.”
He stiffened. “I’m sorry, you’re right.”
“Some of them are my father’s coworkers, and his boss.” I twisted out of his arms, needing distance. I didn’t want his touch to disarm me. “And you didn’t answer me. Did you know?”
His expression glazed over, and he hesitated before speaking. “I had an idea, yeah.”
I had to stare at the ceiling to drain back my tears of frustration. “You should have warned me.”
/> “I wasn’t allowed.” I could hear how torn he was. He’d at least wanted to tell me. Did that count for something? “If I had prepped you, they would have known, and then they wouldn’t have believed any other answer you gave.”
The jerk was probably right.
When it was safe, I put my gaze back on him and pinned him in place. “It screwed with my head.” A tremble rumbled through my shoulders, so I cross my arms to hold it in. My voice dropped to a whisper. “I think I fucked up.”
Alarm rushed through his expression, but he tried to downplay it, being strong for my benefit. Once again, he moved in and put his arms around me. “I’m sure you did fine.”
It should have felt weird, but I welcomed his offer of comfort. I’d pushed him away the first time, but now I desperately needed it. I gripped the lapels of his suit and peered up into his piercing eyes. They were like multifaceted jewels. Pale blue, and then ringed with dark sapphire at the outer edges.
“I told them I waited for you.”
He took in a deep breath, but otherwise he didn’t react. “So?”
“So . . . your father knows you asked me to wait because you want to be my first.”
Again, there was little reaction from him, but movement sparked behind his eyes, like he was entering crisis mode. “That’s fine.”
“You should have seen his face, though,” I warned.
He shrugged it off. “Whatever happens, we’ll figure it out.”
My heart beat a little faster. He could have easily said I’ll figure it out, but instead he’d said we. It had rolled so naturally off his lips. He saw us as a pair.
The phone on his desk rang in a jarring trill, forcing him to release me. He walked to it and punched a button. “This is Royce.”
Macalister’s voice filtered through the electronic speaker and turned my bones to ice. “You should have told me she was a virgin.” I pictured the irritation on his face. “Of course, they ate that up. The board loves her.”
Royce glanced over his shoulder and flashed a sly smile. Oh, my God. This was the ‘ace up my sleeve’ he’d mentioned. Once again, I was annoyed by how big of a deal men made about women’s virginity.
“I guess it went well?” he asked his father.
“She was . . . surprising,” Macalister said. “I told her this already, but just to be clear—you don’t touch her before the initiation.”
Royce’s smile soured. “I understand.”
There was rustling on the other end, followed by a distinct click as his father hung up.
I stood in the dressing room of the designer dress shop, watching the Instagram notifications blow up my phone.
The week following the interview had been worse than the previous.
My preparation lessons with Alice had been replaced with meetings about Royce’s party. Since I had passed the first stage of the approval process, things grew more serious. Being Royce’s wife basically meant I’d be a project manager. I’d be tasked with planning events and making all the decisions he couldn’t be bothered with.
This was my audition.
I’d sat in on meetings with florists about centerpieces and inspected table linen samples, all while Alice watched over and second-guessed every decision I’d been forced to make. I didn’t care whether the tables were round or long rectangles, or if the invitations were embossed or letterpress.
But I pretended I did. I smiled and nodded and Instagrammed what she encouraged me to. I developed the narrative of the happy girlfriend swept away with excitement at planning a celebration for the man of her dreams. I played the role everyone wanted me to be.
Everyone, except for me.
Each selection I made felt like I was blindly filling in a test answer bubble, praying it was right. Once the RSVPs started to come in, it became more complicated. Everyone wanted to be there. This was going to be the party of the decade. It had been thirteen years since anyone had ascended to the board, and Royce wasn’t going to be just any board member—he was supposed to take over for Macalister when his father retired.
Media outlets wanted in on the celebration. Once it was clear I was Royce’s girlfriend and in charge of his party, I’d started getting requests from everywhere. People who’d shunned me in high school were suddenly obnoxiously friendly. Style editors and Instagram influencers followed me and sent direct messages, hoping to score an invite.
I tried not to let it go to my head, but it was a trip.
All those people who had treated me like I had a social disease were suddenly climbing over each other to be my friend. The petty part of me enjoyed it a little.
Alice’s favorite designer was in Boston for a trunk show, and she’d scheduled an appointment for both of us this evening. I hadn’t known Royce was coming until he’d appeared on the couch in the lobby of the store, looking annoyingly sexy. He’d come straight from the office, and his tie was stuffed haphazardly in the pocket of his blue suit coat.
“Why are you here?” I made a face. I hadn’t meant for it to come out so forceful. I was tired, and I didn’t like him seeing the person I had to be when Alice was around.
He smirked, unfazed by my tone. “I need to know what you’re going to be wearing so I can coordinate.”
“I’m sure I could send you a picture.”
He tossed up a hand in surrender. “Okay. I wanted to have a say in the decision.”
Like his father, Royce liked having control.
Donna Willow, the dress designer, was the embodiment of her name. Her head was a mop of wispy white hair and she was so slender, the collection of bracelets jangling on her wrists looked like they might break her arms. When Alice introduced us, Donna gave me a once-over and a pleasant smile.
“My fall collection is all jewel tones,” she said, nodding to herself. “Lots of options, but I already have a dress in mind for you.”
Gowns were pulled for me to try on, and then I was shepherded toward a dressing room.
“This is just to get an idea. I’ve got clips for whatever is too big.” She pointed to the glittering, fluffy assortment of dresses hanging on the rack. “I’m confident the red strapless number will be your dress, but we’ll start with the blue one just for fun.” Her eyes sparkled. “We don’t want this over too quickly.”
I gave a smile and hoped she couldn’t see it was pained.
Once the door shut, my face fell. I should have been excited. This was basically every little girl’s dream, trying on fancy dresses for the big ball. I even had the Prince Charming already lined up.
Except it was fabricated.
Would my relationship with Royce grow to become more than just fiction?
I retrieved my phone from my purse, snapped a picture of the rack of gowns, and posted it to my feed. I fed the lie with a question of which dress I should try on first, followed by a bunch of happy, vapid hashtags.
“Nice,” Alice said when I emerged from the fitting room wearing the blue mermaid style dress.
I went up the step to stand on the platform in front of the mirrors and take it in. Its high neck had beaded embellishments that wrapped around my throat and I couldn’t help but feel strangled.
Alice sat on the cream-colored couch and Royce in a gold armchair beside it, and his gaze met mine through the mirror.
“It’s just okay to me,” he said.
“Agreed,” Donna concluded. “Try the black one next.”
The second dress was far more comfortable, but I didn’t have to see my reflection to know it wasn’t right. Three frowns greeted me when I appeared from the fitting room.
“No,” Donna said, before sending me back. “The waistline is too high.”
I stood in the small, mirrorless room, staring at the notifications as they popped up on my screen, one after another. People seemed to like the curated Marist Northcott a hell of a lot more than the real one. I hurled my phone in my purse and reminded myself it was pointless to be upset. I was doing what I had to. Macalister’s deal said I was supposed
to be the girl everyone wanted to be.
My gaze landed on the red dress.
Frowns weren’t waiting for me when I rounded the corner and stepped into view. Alice inhaled sharply and clasped a hand to her chest. Donna’s proud smile was enormous. I didn’t risk a glance at Royce at first. Instead, I grasped the sides of skirt and stepped up onto the platform, took in a breath, and raised my eyes to the mirror.
My own reflection turned me to stone.
The strapless dress was the color of power and sin. Below the waist, the red corseted bodice burst into tulle rosettes in varying shades of crimson and scarlet, flowing down to the floor and trailing behind me in a short train.
Who knew fabric could be so transformative?
I suddenly felt like I could do this. I could wear this beautiful costume when it was announced to the world I was about to become the princess of the Hale dynasty. That Royce had chosen me. I’d don a smile on my face that wouldn’t be much of a lie, and it was because of the way he was looking at me right now.
His lush lips parted, but he didn’t seem to be breathing. He stared at me as if the world turned at my command. I’d always thought his eyes were hungry, but that hunger was the hunt for signs of weakness. For mistakes and dark secrets people hoped to conceal.
His hunger now was something else entirely.
Unabashed desire drenched his expression. He held my gaze so long my knees softened, and my cheeks warmed with a flush. Had he forgotten we weren’t alone? It was indecent the way he stared at me. There was no mistaking what he craved.
Perhaps I wasn’t Medusa, but Persephone. Royce was Hades, the king of the underworld. He’d come to carry me down into his dark world, make me his unwilling bride and his queen.
She didn’t stay unwilling, did she?
The myth said once Persephone had been granted her freedom by Zeus, lovesick Hades tricked her into eating pomegranate seeds. This meant she had to return to her husband in the underworld.
In some versions, Persephone ate the seeds knowingly. She wanted the excuse to return to him.